


Table for Two

by woozifi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Humor, M/M, Romance, blind date au, only friends are smart everyone else is dumb, yall.....theyre so dumb in this fic....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woozifi/pseuds/woozifi
Summary: Jun should've just told Jihoon that he sat at the wrong table for his blind date. He should've told Jihoon his name wasn't Kim Mingyu, and that he was a total stranger.Instead, he decides to roll with it.(a.k.a. the stupidly awkward, embarrassing Blind Date AU to end all stupid, awkward, embarrassing blind dates in AUs)





	Table for Two

Jun thinks there’s some sort of unwritten law about approaching strangers and trying to talk to them in public.

Somehow, somewhere, during the natural process of societal evolution, people must’ve started to pick up little cues that indicated what was appropriate and what wasn’t. One must not try for a casual conversation when waiting in lines. When two strangers happen to sit on a bus seat next to each other, both must stay silent, look in different directions, and not make eye contact at all times. When a girl is staring at her phone and wearing earphones, it’s in a man’s best interest not to assume she’s up for a flirty discussion.

Given that people are people, these rules tend to get broken more than you might think. But—again—given that people are people, nobody ever really thinks about these as unwritten social rules until it’s happening to them.

For Jun, he knows these laws more than anyone because, if broken, they distract him from the rhythm of his daily activities. He is a man of habit. Of self-imposed rules he has set for himself on the straight and narrow railroad tracks that are his life. Here are a few:

Every second Sunday of the month, he drives up to Brampton to visit his parents and answer the same questions—yes, his job is doing fine; no, he doesn’t have anyone special; yes, he’s been eating well; no, he doesn’t have any particular plans coming up. His parents are at that period of life where they’ll look like they haven’t aged at all until suddenly they do. Jun stares at their new wrinkles, drinks bitter green tea at a table he’s known his entire life, runs his hands over familiar grooves and fingernail scratches and old burns, and he occasionally feels too big for his chair.

Every day at work, he systematically indulges himself in circling around the office at break time to discuss his coworkers’ latest dilemmas (never his own). It’s partly because it’s in his nature to enjoy providing comfort and advice, partly because involving himself in other people’s problems makes him feel like he matters to them.

And for most of his Friday nights, he’s spent them at the same place for the past five years: a semi-fancy, semi-affordable, semi-authentic Italian restaurant just down the street from his apartment. He goes there alone—the servers don’t even have to ask anymore before they’re gesturing to the nearest free two-seater in the joint—and orders the exact same dish ( _penne al ragu di coltello,_ he stutters clumsily over every time, a fancy name for basically pasta with beef). He sits there and eats and maybe drinks a bit of wine, watching other people come in twos and threes and fours and big groups, couples and families and loud drunk celebrations.

And then he goes home.

It may sound lonely, but Jun kind of likes loneliness, the same way he kind of likes watching milk get slowly poured into bitter-black coffee. It’s less about the lack of people in his life and more about how much he enjoys his routine, and he enjoys the almost clockwork feeling of shoveling pasta and tomatoes and beef into his mouth. He enjoys trudging along to his empty apartment to watch some TV and fall asleep before he can remember to brush his teeth.

This Friday, however, goes a little differently.

Its difference comes in the form of a young man, with slightly messy reddish hair fading into a pastel bleached pink; a silky white shirt that doesn’t fit him quite right; and the most flustered, deer-in-the-headlights expression Jun has ever seen, sitting down right across from him in the two-seater and breathlessly saying, “Sorry I was late, traffic was all backed up and I had to get out food for my cat and—um, it’s Mingyu, right?”

Jun can only stare.

In terms of society’s unwritten laws, _this_ one seems just a little too set in stone for breaking it to even be considered possible. Strangers don’t just sit down at someone else’s table, call them by a wrong name, and then act like they know exactly what they’re talking about.

In terms of breaking social rules, that’s just ridiculous.

In terms of breaking routines, this falls so out of Jun’s depth of understanding that he’s completely thrown off-balance, unsure of what to say or how to react or even how to feel.

He lets his brain, stuttered to a halt in surprise, begin to slowly work again. Despite this hiccup in his life’s metaphorical schedule, it’s not the _worst_ change to ever happen to his old habits. The man is … cute, at least. Cute in the way that things that don’t seem to know what to do with themselves are appealing in their helplessness.

“I’m Jihoon,” the stranger says, when Jun only stares at him with a half-chewed lump of _penne_ pasta and melted _Grano Padano_ cheese in his mouth. “Uh, Lee Jihoon? Wonwoo’s friend Soonyoung’s friend in Albatross? For the blind date?”

When Jun still doesn’t reply, Jihoon’s cheeks and ears begin to turn a distinctive shade of flustered kill-me-now pink.

“Y-you _are_ Kim Mingyu, right?”

(Later, Jun is sure he can convince himself that he did it all out of pity. That this Lee Jihoon guy just seemed so confident yet so unsure, so stubborn in the shape of his mouth and yet the panic in his eyes looked so willing to run away. That if Jun had politely corrected him and said he _wasn’t_ his blind date, Jihoon might literally die from mortification on the spot.)

(And it just seemed like such a shame, for such a cute guy to die in front of Jun that day.)

(In the moment, however, no such thoughts ran through his head.)

All Jun sees is the slightly crooked collar of the ill-fitting silk shirt. The way the sleeves run past this Lee Jihoon’s wrists and brush the second knuckle of his fingers. The way he keeps dragging his nails self-consciously through his diluted red hair in an attempt to brush it down flat, only succeeding in making it look more frazzled and ridiculous. The way Jihoon’s dark eyes keep flickering to his face and then down at the empty spot of red tablecloth in front of him, like he can’t bring himself to meet Jun’s gaze for longer than two seconds.

And he looks so embarrassed and cautious and _cute_ that Jun finds himself saying, “Yeah, I’m Kim Mingyu. Um, sorry for starting without you?”

The look of utter relief on Jihoon’s face is near palpable. He softens up, eyebrows relaxing, settling for good into the chair. “Yeah, it’s fine. If you showed up late, I’d probably do the same thing.”

Jun’s eyes flicker over to the old clock up on the nearest wall. Unless Jihoon and Mingyu decided on some ass-backwards time to meet up, then Jihoon is running anywhere from twenty to forty minutes tardy for this blind date. Is the _real_ Kim Mingyu still here, or has he already assumed he’s been stood up and gone home?

Maybe this’ll be fine. Jun can just pretend to be this Mingyu guy for an hour or so, make himself as bland and uninteresting as possible, and give Jihoon encouragement to not try this a second time. They’ll share some awkward goodbyes at the end of it, and they can both go their separate ways with no one the wiser.

Jun’ll have a single noteworthy moment to break the monotony of his memories of Friday nights.

Jihoon flips through the menu, mouth screwed up in indecision, stubby nail-bitten fingers tapping against the laminated pages. His eyes are trained solely on the tiny brown booklet, partly due to nerves and partly out of sheer conviction to not order something he’ll hate. Jun’s never met someone who can make poring over a restaurant menu so fun to watch.

“Um,” Jihoon eventually says, “do you have anything to, uh, to suggest?”

His voice is hesitant, still on edge, so stiff it feels like he’s talking to a supervisor or manager instead of his blind date partner.

He’s either incredibly anxious about this date, or he’s not very good at talking to strangers. Jun has a funny feeling both answers are correct. He gets how Jihoon feels. He tries not to smile.

“I usually just get this one,” Jun says, gesturing to his plate. “But I, um, I recommend the _linguine al pesto._ ” He recommends it because it’s the only other dish he’s tried.

Jihoon orders it from a passing server, the server’s smiles more plastic than the fake white lilies in a corner of their table, and a tense silence falls over the two of them as they wait. Jun fiddles with his fork, unwilling to eat more until Jihoon gets his portion, but now he has nothing to fill his mouth but empty space and voiceless air.

“So,” he eventually says, when it looks like Jihoon’s prepared to stare at a tiny hole in the tablecloth and do nothing else the rest of the night, “what do you, uh, do for a living?”

Jihoon gives him a weird look. “I … work at Albatross Publishing, y’know, with Wonwoo?”

Ah, shit. Was Wonwoo the real Kim Mingyu’s friend, the one that introduced him? He can’t remember what Jihoon said when he first sat down. Jun gulps, palms starting to sweat. That’s probably something Mingyu would’ve known. _Christ,_ this was a terrible idea, but he can’t exactly back out now. If he reveals the truth at this point, they’ll both look stupid _and_ he’ll look like a creep.

“Ah, no, I meant, what—what _position_ in Albatross? Publishing companies usually have different, er, positions, right?”

Jihoon seems to have bought it— _he’s_ the one who looks embarrassed when he says, “ _Oh,_ o-of course. Sorry. I, um, I’m a proofreader. It’s nothing special, I just, uh—once Wonwoo and the author edits the manuscript, I’m the one that looks over it for spelling, grammar, word choice, sentence structure. That sort of stuff. It’s the boring part of publishing novels, it’s not really all that interesting.”

He looks so self-conscious about his employment, Jun can’t help breaking out the encouragement.

“No, no, I think it’s great!” he says quickly. “I mean, you basically have the most important job there. If the book is full of spelling errors and, and, uhhh, and comma splices and bad grammar and all that, then it wouldn’t even matter how interesting the book’s plot or characters are, right?”

That appears to be the right thing to say. Jihoon gives him a small smile, the kind that unfurls slowly and breaks open, spreading to his whole face like the light of a sunrise.

Jun can’t feel anything in his throat besides dust, something searing hot and desert-rough.

“You flatter me,” Jihoon mutters, ducking his head. “Nice of you to throw Wonwoo under the bus like that.”

Jun still isn’t sure who Wonwoo is, but he thinks he’ll gladly throw him under a cement truck if it means Jihoon smiles like that more. He’s oddly proud of himself, pleased with the date’s progress—and then recalls that he’s impersonating someone else and this is a date he has no right in having at all.

“Wonwoo didn’t tell me about you,” Jihoon blurts out, after a few more moments of silence. “I mean, you know how Wonwoo is—didn’t even say what kind of job you have or anything. Maybe you could, uh, talk about yourself?”

Oh. _Oh._ Never mind, Jun thinks Wonwoo’s the greatest person on earth. He needs a medal or something, really, with cheering crowds and hand-shaking mayors and keys to the city and all that shit. Whoever that tight-lipped son of a bitch is, he just made his friend Mingyu a blank slate, and gave Jun a chance to not totally make a fool out of both of them.

Of course, Jihoon’s probably only saying this to give _himself_ an out—having the other person talk as much as possible about themselves on a first date gives Jihoon the opportunity to not have to do the same. It’s a pretty clever plan, in all honesty.

Per Jun’s original idea, he opens his mouth and starts mentally going over lists of the most boring, most un-dateable jobs he can think of to try and deter Jihoon from wanting a second round. Instead, he decides to be a dumbass and talk about his actual job (which is admittedly rather boring and un-dateable, if not financially stable). “It’s nothing special, either. I work IT at a financial company.”

“That’s pretty interesting.”

“Nah. Honestly, sometimes it feels like I’m getting paid to sit around and do nothing. Other days I feel like my paycheck should be in the six figures with all the shit I’m saddled with. Half the time, I walk into my office and my inbox is flooded with people from other departments panicking because they can’t get their email working.” Jihoon snorts derisively, and against his will Jun once more feels ridiculously accomplished. “But it’s not all bad. My boss is super chill and the team is real cool.”

He avoids telling Jihoon that said “team” is apparently a whole lot cooler with everyone else than they are with him. They even invited _Minghao_ to their last barbecue, which really says something.

A server with fake nails and hair piled up in a messy bun arrives with Jihoon’s dish, and he digs into it immediately. Jun finds it charming how Jihoon doesn’t seem to care what he looks like when he eats—he doesn’t so much pick up pasta with his fork as using the utensil to shovel everything into his mouth at once, smearing green pesto sauce along the corners of his lips—and Jun is alarmed to discover that his heart starts to thump just a little bit faster when the pink of Jihoon’s tongue flicks out to lick the sauce away.

“How did you and Wonwoo become friends?” Jihoon asks once his mouth is free.

“We, um, sort of just—well, you know how Wonwoo is. It sort of happens.” _Shit shit shit shit shit._ “We met, um, through a mutual friend. Uh. In college.”

“Oh.” Jihoon frowns slightly into his bowl. “I thought I heard Wonwoo mention something about you guys running into each other at a pet store. Something involving a shitton of kibble and having to share a broom and dustpan for two hours.”

 _Fuck._ “Y-yeah, that’s what I was, um, talking about. We met in a pet store. Through a mutual friend. While we were in college. Terrible accident, paramedics involved, legally not allowed to talk about it.” He pauses. “I’m kidding.”

“Right, yeah.” Jihoon lets out a small laugh, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. Jun is suddenly overcome with the desire to touch the shirt himself, find out if it’s as silky as it looks beneath his fingertips. “He’s a piece of work, huh? I mean, sometimes I think he’s part robot, or that he’s in the Witness Protection Program or some shit, so he’s intentionally avoiding ever talking about himself or involving himself in any way. Then I usually realize he probably just doesn’t care. Is he any different with friends? I mean, you know—like, close friends, not work friends like me.”

“He’s—um—” _What the fuck even is this Wonwoo guy?_ “He’s just … like that. You get used to it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Soonyoung never gives up, though. He still thinks he just has to drown him in friendliness, and Wonwoo will crack open like a walnut or something.” He freezes, as if just realizing that Jun (or Mingyu) doesn’t know who Soonyoung is. “He’s, um, the one who got Wonwoo to set this up. He … cares. Very deeply. About everything.” A ghost of a scowl flickers over his face. It’s tempered by a kind of regretful affection, as though he appreciates Soonyoung’s exuberance but wishes he didn’t. “He’s just like that. You get used to it.”

Jun laughs. The idea of someone as withdrawn and grounded as Jihoon being friends with someone who seems so well-meaningly meddling is strangely … cute.

Yeah. It’s cute.

For a moment, his brain just clicks, and for about five seconds he really is Kim Mingyu. He’s really out here on a blind date that he’s starting to like a lot more than he was expecting. He’s friends with a strange dude called Wonwoo and he can’t wait to go on a second date with Lee Jihoon, to learn more about his job in the publishing company, to get to know his friends and become a part of his life, maybe for a good long time.

He can see all of this.

The illusion is so real that when he looks down at his hands and scoops up some food, he feels like an alien trapped in someone else’s skin. That the taste of pasta and caramelized onions getting mashed up between his teeth doesn’t belong to him.

They’re quiet for a moment as they eat their respective meals, but the silence isn’t as stressful as before. They’ve gotten over the initial anxiety, the impossible need to fill every moment of breathing room with meaningless words. The orange-yellow lamps above them add a golden glow to Jihoon’s hair, and his skin (a few shades fairer than Jun’s) looks enchanting against the deep colour of the cheap tablecloth.

Jun is dimly aware that he’s staring at Jihoon with probably the worst case of love-struck dumbness in the history of weird blind dates. It’s kind of awful, really, how far down Jun’s falling. He tries to pace himself, remind himself that this isn’t real and it’ll all be over in only an hour or two.

When Jihoon’s eyes flicker up to meet his and then drop back to his food with an embarrassed smile, Jun can’t bring himself to care.

Maybe he’s still nervous, because Jihoon wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand and says with an awkward chuckle, “Uh, this actually reminds me of—of this one time with Wonwoo. It was, um, we were out at a sushi place near our work with Soonyoung. You probably already know this, but Wonwoo is a fucking demon, he basically drowns all his sushi rolls in soy sauce and he uses way too much wasabi to have human taste buds. Anyway, he, um, he—” Jihoon’s face suddenly flushes. “He, um, uh … never mind. I—yeah. Forget it.”

He hastily scrapes his fork back into his bowl.

“What’s wrong?” Jun asks.

“Nothing.”

“Sure feels like something.”

Jihoon’s face screws up. “No, I just—I just realized that so far everything we’ve talked about has been about Wonwoo. It’s stupid. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Not like Jun can exactly contribute to talking about anything else. He’s still terrified that if he pushes too hard one way or another, this entire disaster will unravel at its seams and Jihoon will realize he’s a fake, and not being found out has suddenly become the most crucial thing in the world. “It’s, um, our one point in common so far. You can talk about him if you want, I’d love to hear about what he’s like at work.”

“I _do_ have a life outside of our mutual friend,” Jihoon splutters, almost defensively. “I have lots of interests. I do lots of cool things.”

It’s practically childish, and Jun can feel a grin widening on his face, stretching his cheeks. “Right, of course. Lots of interests. Tell me more about your proofreading job and double negatives and, uh, ending sentences with prepositions.”

“Oh, shut up. Why don’t _you_ tell me more about fixing people’s emails?”

“Touché.”

The mood between them relaxes even further, and with Jihoon’s eyes beginning to glint with an amused inner light, Jun feels more confident than ever. He shifts in his seat and opens his mouth, ready to say something mind-blowing and impressive and totally date-worthy to sweep Jihoon off his feet.

His stupidly long legs mash themselves against the underside of the tiny two-seater table, instead. The entire thing shudders. His half-full wine glass tilts off balance, dangerously close to falling over the edge.

“Watch out!”

Jihoon’s arm surges forward to grab at the tipping wine glass, putting his whole body into it in a move that might be impressive in literally any other situation. He manages to close his hand around it, fingers grasping the spindly glass stem with remarkable precision—but he also manages to sweep his hand hard enough across the table that his knuckles smash against the side of Jun’s bowl, sending it toppling.

Jun’s brain zeroes in on the falling porcelain and everything seems to happen in slow motion. Both he and Jihoon sit there and watch in utter horror, as the bowl goes airborne for a split second, flies off the table, and plops squarely in the middle of Jun’s chest. The noise in the restaurant dims to a hum of surprise, then absolute silence as everyone turns to look at them. The bowl clatters to the ground, _penne_ pasta and beef tenderloins scattering across the wine-stained floor, and Jun finds himself sitting with his entire dinner in his lap and sauce drenching, well, everything.

He blinks stupidly, unsure of how to react. “Uh …”

“Oh my god,” Jihoon stutters, as every part of his face turns pink, then red, then traumatized. “O-oh my god. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I—fuck, holy shit, let me, um—um—”

Everyone is staring at their table, the weight of what feels like a thousand eyes making the situation turn even worse.

Jihoon hunches close into himself like he wants to tuck and roll into a crumpled silk-paper ball, hands hovering uselessly, eyes glued to Jun’s soiled shirt. He looks like he might actually want to cry.

Jun, oddly enough, doesn’t feel upset at all. Maybe just a little miffed that he can’t finish his dinner, and a bit embarrassed to cause a scene. He’s sure that if this had happened on any other night, and if this was any other person besides Jihoon, he might have reacted differently. But the sight of Jihoon’s absolutely wrecked expression is enough for him to calm down and keep a clear head.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He keeps his voice soothing, almost conversational, as though there’s nothing wrong with the fact that he’s sitting here covered in his meal _._ “Really. Don’t worry about it. I, uh, should go and try to clean this up, though.”

He stands up and lets all the cheese-covered pasta noodles fall to the floor at his feet and signals the nearest server.

The server takes one look at the mess, and his carefully-plastered customer service smile turns hollow and blank, as though he needs to forcibly erase all his thoughts before he succumbs to self-hatred and despair. Jun gives him an apologetic sort of grimace and, at the sight of Jihoon still sitting there and very possibly ready to bolt out the restaurant as soon as he can, coughs and gestures for him to follow.

The two of them stumble into the men’s room, feet squeaking against squares of blue and white tiles. Their reflection in the finger-smeared mirrors is one hell of a sight—Jihoon, hair more rumpled than ever and looking distinctly shell-shocked, and Jun with tomato sauce all the way down the front of his shirt and jeans like he just starred in a B-rated horror movie. No one else is in here, thank god, or this would be even more awkward.

Unsure of how to fix this, he starts by grabbing a giant wad of toilet paper from one of the stalls and wets it a bit under the sink, trying to scrub as much of himself clean as he can. Jihoon stands there, struck dumb, still bright red, and still ready to book it.

Jun’s starting to feel more sorry for him than he does for himself.

“Hey,” he says again. “I’m serious, it’s totally fine. I, um, never really liked this shirt anyway.” That’s partly true. His jeans, on the other hand, are a treasured pair that’s been put through the washer-dryer cycle just enough times for it to be the ideal level of soft and comfy, but he doesn’t want to tell Jihoon that.

(Pasta sauce can be washed out of denim, right?)

“I’m so sorry,” Jihoon mumbles, shoulders sagging. He seems to be avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. Or at Jun. He keeps his eyes firmly glued to a spot of dried pink liquid soap that’s been left on the counter next to one of the sinks. “I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to do that. Christ, it’s _everywhere_ on you. Oh my god.”

“Jihoon, I really don’t mind.”

Jihoon, _finally,_ looks up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed into a deeply self-deprecating glare, light wrinkles forming on his forehead. He almost looks angry, when his expression twists like that, and it’s unbelievably adorable.

“You’re either really nice or insane,” he accuses. “If someone dumped an entire bowl of pasta all over me, I would—I don’t know what I would do. Probably not be so chill about it.”

“I mean, you better be okay with sharing _your_ plate with me, because I’m still hungry.” Jihoon doesn’t exactly laugh, but the wrinkles on his forehead disappear and he gives Jun a weak grimace of a smile. Jun instantly feels better about possibly ruining these clothes forever. He scrubs harder at his shirt and jeans and contemplates if he should maybe just hose himself down. “And anyways, I’m mostly just glad you followed me in here. I didn’t want to make my walk of shame back outside by myself. I was worried you would run out the door while I was gone.” Oops, he didn’t mean to say that last part.

Jihoon’s eyes widen.

“You,” he says slowly, “you want to still … continue the date? I mean, after I just …?” He can’t seem to find the words for this man-made disaster, so he just flaps his hands at Jun’s general direction.

“We might receive some nasty looks from the staff,” Jun says, his voice deceivingly chilled out even as his heart does complicated backflips in-between his lungs, “but if you’re okay with keeping the date going, then, well, yeah. Let’s head back out there, eat some linguini, and pretend we totally didn’t just do that in front of the entire restaurant.”

Jihoon stares at him with a wondrous, intricate look on his face, like he’s both disbelieving and amazed that Jun isn’t calling their blind date off. He opens his mouth, but at the last second he presses his lips tightly together. He goes to grab Jun more toilet paper.

It takes them almost ten minutes to get the sauce cleaned off, the struggle mostly due to the melted globs of cheese drying and gluing itself to the material of his shirt. Even then, Jun’s clothes are partially stained a faded orange-red by the time they leave the bathroom and head back to their seat. He tries to pass it off as a tie-dye pattern, but nobody looks fooled.

The disaster zone under Jun’s chair has been cleaned up. A server asks, with barely-restrained resentment, if he’d like a complimentary dish to make up for his spilled half-eaten one.

Jun wishes he can just share the rest of Jihoon’s dish, the two of them eating opposite ends of the linguini pasta _Lady and the Tramp_ style. But knowing that it might be a bit too advanced of a dating move for the two of them to handle tonight—and knowing that he likely won’t ever be able to get a free meal from this place again—he orders one of the more expensive _antipasti_ dishes and gets a plate of _cozze._ He feasts happily on mussels thick with garlic and herbs, and thinks that (beyond the inevitable loss of one of his favourite pairs of jeans) everything is turning out pretty well for him.

The night ends with no further disasters, despite plenty of lingering embarrassment and more awkward discussions about Wonwoo’s weirdness, and Jun finds himself disappointed when he zips up his jacket over the dried mess of his shirt, holds open the door for Jihoon, and they step out into the night air.

It’s cool outside, as crisp as a pack of freshly bought printer paper. Jun turns to face an unnervingly silent, frowning Jihoon with extreme reluctance, ready to say goodbye forever.

It was fun while it lasted, he tries to console himself; it will fade into nothing more than a funny memory he can tell at company dinner parties.

And yet, he knows. He knows that his fascination towards this man extends beyond just a mere funny memory for the future. He knows that he’s never had such a strong immediate reaction towards another person like this before.

And he knows that it’s likely he won’t forget about Jihoon for a very long time.

“Well,” he says, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful. Jihoon still isn’t opening his mouth. “That was fun. I mean. I had fun. Despite certain events. Did you, uh, have—?”

“ _Um!”_ Jihoon practically yells, voice way too loud and way too rushed. He desperately has something to say and is frantic for the opportunity to not slip by. His eyes widen and his ears start to turn red not just from the cold, but he struggles through it with admirable tenacity. “Um! I was wondering if we could—could see each other again. If that’s possible. If you … if you _want_ to …”

He trails off, physically unable to finish his sentence.

Jun stares down at him, heart suddenly pummeling around furiously inside his chest as though his lungs are using it as a punching bag.

Jihoon is so ridiculously easy to read. He’s shifting his weight from one foot to another, fingers pulling anxiously at the sleeves of his shirt, gazing up at Jun with a complicated expression that can only be described as equal parts hopeful and regretful and terrified. He might as well have a big neon sign above his head saying, _“It’s taking every ounce of courage and willpower I possess to say this right now, oh god, I know tonight was a disaster in more ways than one but please don’t reject me.”_

It’s almost painful to watch. It’s awkward. It’s a little sweet. It’s endearing. It’s something that speaks to Jun beyond mere words or human understanding. It’s something he wants to see again, and again, and again.

 _Say no,_ the rational part of his brain whispers. _It doesn’t matter how much you want to. You have to say no._

“Let me give you my number,” he says instead.

The relieved, slightly shy, entirely self-conscious smile he receives in return is enough for Jun to almost forget that this is a terrible idea.

 

Perhaps to truly understand exactly how this all came to be, we first need to know that Lee Jihoon will blame it all entirely on Soonyoung.

Kwon Soonyoung’s interests sounds like the summary on a dating website profile containing too many starry-eyed notions and far too many virgins. He enjoys candlelit dinners and long walks on beaches, preferably at night when the moon is full, and he can dig his bare toes into the sand. He likes picnics, with traditional wooden baskets and checkerboard-patterned blankets to sit on. And above all, he loves movies, particularly ones about falling in love, with some singing and dancing and hopefully somebody in a wedding dress by the end of it. He’s not too picky about who, just so long as there’s a wedding dress _somewhere_.

This means, of course, that Kwon Soonyoung is a horrible romantic. And like all horrible romantics, they think love is the most important thing in the world and can’t comprehend the idea that other people exist who _might_ have other priorities.

“It’s my professional opinion that you should start seeing someone,” he says instead of “good morning” when Jihoon crawls into work at nine on the dot and heads straight for the coffee machine (there isn’t a huge line up yet, but in about ten minutes when everyone else arrives there will be, and Jihoon will be damned if he takes the lukewarm leftovers at the bottom of an overused pot).

“Christ, not this again,” Jihoon groans.

“Look, Hoonie.” Soonyoung digs one hip into the blunt edge of the break room’s kitchen counter, watching as Jihoon pours decently hot, cheap coffee into a cracked mug. “I’m not saying you need to fall in love in order to become a happier guy, but who the fuck am I kidding. You totally need to fall in love.”

“Don’t set me up with someone,” Jihoon threatens. “I’m serious, do _not._ Remember Seokmin? Remember _that?”_

“You liked Seokmin!” Soonyoung protests, unwilling to deal with any evidence that might prove he isn’t, in fact, the greatest matchmaker in the world like he wants to believe. “You thought he was really handsome and sweet!”

Jihoon scowls and points an accusatory finger at his coworker/soon-to-be-ex-best-friend. It happens to be the finger belonging to the hand currently holding his cup of coffee, making dark liquid slosh dangerously close to the edge of the mug and nearly spill over and scald Soonyoung alive. Jihoon only wishes. “Yeah, you asshole! You totally stringed me along until I was head over heels for that guy, and then I found out he was interested in that—that—that prick from marketing!”

“Seungkwan isn’t a prick, and you know it. And besides, I thought you liked Seungkwan. You two were totally hitting it off at the Christmas party, we couldn’t _drag_ you guys away from that karaoke machine.”

“Okay, he’s not a prick,” Jihoon admits peevishly, “but _you_ totally were. You kept acting like we were a thing that was gonna happen, I should’ve known you wouldn’t even check to see if he liked anyone _else_.”

Soonyoung spreads his hands in an innocent, what-can-you-do gesture. “I thought he was a free agent, don’t blame me.”

“Of course I’m gonna blame you.” Jihoon pokes his head into the fridge and steals one of his fellow proofreader’s Ziploc-sealed cinnamon buns. “There’s literally nobody else to blame. Except for myself. For being an idiot and trusting you.”

“I just want to see you happy,” Soonyoung wails.

Lee Jihoon can’t really understand his coworker/best-friend-for-now’s thought process. As far as _he’s_ concerned, he’s perfectly happy. He has a decent job, if a little boring, that feeds himself and his cat. Chun-Li is a gentle Scottish Fold that he loves more than he loves himself, and nothing makes him more satisfied than coming home to watch TV with her purring away on his chest, oftentimes falling asleep before he remembers to brush his teeth. He has friends—sort of—mostly in the form of Soonyoung, and really with all of Soonyoung’s exuberance and energy he basically counts as three and a half friends anyway, which is more than enough for him.

He’s content.

“I can appreciate the sentiment,” Jihoon says quietly, softening at the thought of Soonyoung’s misguided concern for him. “But I’m okay. I’m not lonely or anything, so you don’t have to worry about—”

Soonyoung, of course, chooses to ignore him entirely in favour of yelling halfway across the office and disrupting the other members of Albatross Publishing.

“Hey, Wonwoo! _Wonwoo!_ Do you know anyone who you can set up with Jihoon?”

He receives only a bewildered blink in response by the dark-haired man in question.

If there were award ceremonies for people who collectively gave zero shits about the universe, Jeon Wonwoo wouldn’t even show up to receive first prize— _that’s_ how little he cares about things. It’s a talent and a lifestyle choice that Jihoon admires greatly.

“Why are we setting Jihoon up?” he asks, rough and gravelly in the mornings. From experience and familiarity, Jihoon knows Wonwoo will need a few more hours and another cup of coffee before he can settle into a slightly less rough, slightly less gravelly tone for the rest of the day. People sometimes mistake his blank expressions and deep voice as intimidation, but they couldn’t be far from the truth. Jeon Wonwoo isn’t an intimidating man—just a weird one in constant need of caffeine.

“Because Jihoon hasn’t been on a date in, like, fifteen years, and he’s gonna die a hermit, and he needs to live a little,” Soonyoung says pleadingly, prompting Jihoon to snap an embarrassed “Fuck you!” at him.

Wonwoo blinks twice. He turns right, then left, then stares at the corkboard on the wall (pinned with various multicoloured flyers, notices, and warnings that nobody really reads), then reaches one arm up and scratches his head. He looks bored and a little pissed off, but Jihoon knows him well enough after nearly three years to tell that he’s just deep in thought. This all happens in one long, smooth, continuous motion that Jihoon watches with fascination; it’s like watching his cat stretch before taking a nap.

Then he says, “I guess I could see if Mingyu’s interested.”

Soonyoung perks up. “Mingyu? Who’s Mingyu? Your friend? Is he single?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t mention his name in this context if he wasn’t single, Soonyoung.”

“Right, right. Okay, well, do you think he’d be a good match for our Jihoonie?”

Wonwoo shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno.”

“Well, is he nice? Considerate? Does he hold out chairs for dates and doors for little old ladies?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Great! Text him right now, see if he’s okay with going on a blind date.” Soonyoung squeals. “Ohh, this is so exciting!”

“Hey now, hold on!” Jihoon says, flustered at the fifty thousand things Soonyoung’s just said and put into motion. “Hold on a second, I didn’t agree to any of this.” Soonyoung doesn’t bother to answer him, and Wonwoo’s already sluggishly sliding his phone out of his pocket. “Soonyoung, I’m serious. This isn’t happening. I don’t want this to be a thing that happens.”

“Of course you do,” Soonyoung says distractedly. He’s probably already envisioning Jihoon’s future wedding and his drunkenly emotional best man speech. “It’ll be a great opportunity for you. Plus, he’s Wonwoo’s friend, so he must be a great guy.”

“I have absolutely _zero_ faith in Wonwoo.” Soonyoung’s already starting to walk away, Wonwoo following after him with his eyes glued to his Samsung screen. Jihoon yells frantically at his retreating back, “Soonyoung! Do you hear me? I have zero faith! _Zero!”_

It’s a source of great anxiety for the rest of the day, but to his immense relief, Soonyoung doesn’t mention it again. Jihoon almost forgets about the whole thing completely—dismissing it as just another one of his friend’s wild half-formed ideas—until one Wednesday, when they’re out grabbing coffee at the café across the street from Albatross with Wonwoo, Soonyoung turns and beams at the tall, impassive man over his Splenda-laced cappucino and says, “Thanks for setting up that date for Jihoon, Wonwoo, I really appreciate it—hey, lemme buy you something here to take back to work with you. Y’know, out of gratitude or whatever.”

“Whoa, what the fuck?” Jihoon blusters out through a mouthful of honey-walnut cake, spraying a small shower of golden crumbs onto the table in front of them. Wonwoo grimaces in distaste and gingerly sweeps them all to the floor with his sleeve. “Are you _kidding_ me? Soonyoung, I told you I didn’t wanna do it.”

“Well, too bad,” Soonyoung says facetiously. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s proudly, happily wearing the ugly banana-yellow Minions tie that Jihoon bought for him (mostly as a fuck-you joke, but Soonyoung seems to think it was a touching, genuine gift) for Christmas, Jihoon would abandon their friendship and punch him in the face right now. “You’re gonna go there this Friday because I know as grumpy as you seem you’re too nice of a person to stand up anyone for any reason, and you’re gonna meet this Kim Mingyu and have a great time and fall madly in love with him and realize that everything I do is out of the goodness of my heart and I get first dibs when you’re looking at names for your adopted children.”

“I don’t even know anything about him!” Jihoon can feel his ears starting to turn pink, which starts to make him angry, because above all else Lee Jihoon hates feeling embarrassed and being embarrassed in public. “I literally know _nothing_ about this Kim Mingyu guy and I’m not sitting for some inept two-hour date with someone I don’t even know.”

“That’s why I brought along Wonwoo, _duh._ ” Soonyoung spins around to face Wonwoo, who’s nibbling at a peanut-butter-chocolate muffin as though moving his jaw to chew costs too much energy. “So, tell us about him. What’s he like? What colour is his hair? How does he smile? What are his favourite movies? What was the last concert he went to? What song always makes him cry?”

Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung with a tense grimace. Having to answer all these questions is probably a source of great personal pain for him.

Jihoon rolls his eyes and says, “You know he’s not going to say anything, Soon.”

“Yeah, but he will for _me._ Right?” Soonyoung smiles winningly and bats his eyelashes at Wonwoo, who remains utterly unmoved. Eventually, the smile slides off his face and he gives Wonwoo a healthy, unrestrained glower. “ _Right?”_

Wonwoo fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable, and finally says, “He’s, like, tall and hot. Dark hair.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome?” Soonyoung whoops gleefully, elbowing Jihoon hard enough in the ribs to nearly make him drop his fork. “Isn’t that your type, eh? Eh? Eh?”

“Go _away._ ” Jihoon sighs. The very thought of having to sit for dinner with someone—especially someone supposedly “tall and hot”, the exact opposite of what _he_ is—makes his palms start to go sweaty from nerves. “Okay, fine. I’ll do just this one thing. But don’t expect anything to happen, and don’t expect me to have a good time. I don’t trust anybody who’s even remotely connected to Wonwoo on a level that can be considered personable and friendly.”

“I can live with that,” Soonyoung says, smiling so hard his eyes are practically slivers of crescent moons. “But at least try, you know? At least show up on time and wear something nice?”

“I’m not _you,_ Soon, I’ll be presentable.”

As much as Jihoon gripes about it, he has to admit his interest is piqued. Wonwoo’s personal life is a total mystery, one that not even Soonyoung’s doggedly cheery curiosity can pick apart, and that in turn makes this Kim Mingyu guy an intriguing mystery as well.

And Jihoon’s always been a total sucker for mysteries, if at least to feel smart when he figures them out.

Soonyoung was exaggerating when he said Jihoon hadn’t been on a date in fifteen years, but it _has_ been a long time. The last one Jihoon can remember—not counting the whole Seokmin thing, which thankfully didn’t even get to the level of uncomfortable dates anyway—was in college, and Jihoon can only remember that the girl he had gone out with (while nice) didn’t share a lot of common interests with him, and their hesitant in-the-moment chemistry wasn’t enough to save the painfully long bouts of silence between their stiff conversations. The short-lived relationship ended on mutual terms, and Jihoon had left the encounter rather relieved and firmly believing that romance was weird and he had no idea why people made such a fuss over it all the time.

“It’s not like I care,” Jihoon tells Chun-Li as he reads the overenthusiastic text message Soonyoung sent him, detailing the time and place Wonwoo’s helped to set up. As he adds the date on his phone’s calendar app, he finds himself almost anticipating the event, wondering what this guy really looks like, what he might say, what _Jihoon_ might say in response. “I just want Soonyoung to leave me alone.”

Chun-Li meows, staring up at him with her pretty blue-grey eyes.

 Jihoon likes to think she knows the secrets of the universe.

Chun-Li likes to think about sunny naps.

“I’m not even interested in this date, you know,” he tells Chun-Li as he starts packing health-conscious salads (“Lose five pounds in under a week, no exercise or workouts required!” the label on the salad reads, which sounds too convenient to be real, but under such a strict time limit Jihoon is willing to make do with what he can) to take to work with him for lunch, instead of relying on pizza or vending machine snacks.

Chun-Li licks her paws and waits for him to finish so he can pet behind her ears.

“It’s not like anything’s gonna happen, anyway,” Jihoon says the night before the date, as he stares at the haphazard remains of what used to be the contents of his closet, now thrown everywhere on his bed and the floor. He’s growing increasingly nervous over the realization that he doesn’t actually have anything nice to wear. “He’ll be either stupid or boring or he’ll find _me_ stupid or boring or not attractive enough, and all that will do is destroy my self-confidence. It’s a lose-lose situation. Why bother trying, right?”

Chun-Li watches him, folded ears flickering every time he tosses aside a different pair of pants or a tacky dinner-party shirt. She doesn’t deign to respond.

Friday morning arrives bright and early after a rather sleepless night. Jihoon ends up knocking out through two alarms and only wakes up because Chun-Li starts kneading his chest, meowing to get his attention. His hair in all its washed-out glory is a mess (it’s in that terrible stage where he’s trying to get it back to his original colour and it won’t look passably nice for at least a few more weeks) and he’s pretty sure he buttoned up his shirt wrong when he stumbles into the office, fifteen minutes later than usual. That doesn’t bode well for today’s events.

“Jesus, Jihoon,” Soonyoung immediately says when he catches sight of Jihoon reluctantly pouring himself a cup of half-cold coffee from the very last dregs of the pot, “you look like a total mess.”

“Thank you, Soonyoung,” Jihoon mutters, settling into his desk and sneaking a glimpse at his own face through the dim reflection of his black computer screen. His hair isn’t brushed properly, and he has dark circles underneath his eyes. With his incorrectly-buttoned work shirt and slightly too-big tie because he couldn’t find his better ones, he looks like a scrawny, ragged high schooler pretending to be an adult.

_He’s tall and hot. Dark hair._

For the love of all that’s holy and good in the universe, Jihoon does _not_ want to put himself through this.

“Man, you really need to take better care of yourself. Don’t you wanna make a good impression for Kim Mingyu? The guy looks like a model, you know. I managed to pry that information out of Wonwoo’s cold, dead hands with a glass of rum, he said Mingyu was even scouted once. Guys like that usually don’t go for guys like you, you know.”

“ _Thank you, Soonyoung.”_

“But hey, like, whatever.” Soonyoung waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You have your charms, even if you do occasionally look like actual hot garbage. And if he’s Wonwoo’s friend, then surely he’s someone with enough heart and soul to ignore your physical shortcomings.”

“You’re just asking for me to break your teeth, aren’t you,” Jihoon snaps. He has two manuscripts to go through today, and he’s already feeling too exhausted and keyed-up for tonight’s events to really feel like concentrating. “Why do you trust Wonwoo so much, anyway? He’s not exactly a paragon of reliability.” One time he ditched them on their sushi lunch date because he was too lazy to get out of his chair.

“I just do,” Soonyoung says simply, and that’s apparently the end of that.

Jihoon can barely focus on his work—he misses a couple run-on sentences, a few misplaced modifiers, even a split infinitive, to his great embarrassment when Wonwoo casually points it out, all beginner mistakes that goes to show how distracted he is. Soonyoung doesn’t help at all, giving him wide eyebrow-waggling smiles every time Jihoon so much as turns in his direction, and loudly calling out enough words of “sage advice” for even the coworkers Jihoon doesn’t know well to get an idea of what’s going on. By the time he finishes work and heads home to get ready for the date, he has editors and proofreaders and marketing staff clapping him on the back and offering him amused words of encouragement, which only embarrasses him further.

Jihoon leaves the building with bright red ears and a strong glower souring his features, half-ready to cancel the date to spite Soonyoung and abandon the whole thing entirely.

But of course he wouldn’t. He can’t cancel on an event the day _of,_ that is positively barbaric.

Chun-Li is unmoved by his stress. Instead, she chooses to cough up hairballs over the freshly ironed shirt he had painstakingly laid out, staining it with what might be— _urgh—_ cat bile and rendering it useless for the night.

Jihoon bites back several half-formed curse words as he frantically tries to clean his shirt with at least half a bottle of dish detergent, but no such luck. Now it’s stained with cat bile and also really soapy.

“How could you do this to me, Chun-Li?” he whines at his cat, who blinks slowly at him in response. “On such an important day?”

He’s only half-serious, because how could he ever blame his beautiful, faultless cat, when clearly it was his own problem for just leaving his clothes around? Chun-Li is never to blame. God made all cats perfect. He rubs at the spot between her ears until she purrs.

Jihoon checks the time and nearly has a heart attack. He should have left six minutes ago. He races back to his bedroom and digs through his closet again, desperate to find something halfway decent, painfully aware that every second ticking away on his digital clock is a second too long, and that he’s going to be _hella fucking late._

No other term can be used to describe just how hella late he’s going to fucking be.

In the end, the only shirt he manages to find is a silky thing his parents got him a long time ago, several years out of fashion and slightly too big for him, and with time running out it’s all he can afford to take. He grabs his keys at the side table by the door and is just about to leave when he hears an indignant meow behind him.

“Fuck.”

He forgot to feed Chun-Li.

By the time he gives his beloved cat her premium quality all-natural duck and lamb meal, then scrambles down to the apartment’s car park below ground, his hair is starting to get frazzled—a natural bodily response, it seems, whenever he starts to undergo severe mental stress—and he keeps looking down at the time on his phone’s lock screen, as though it might magically go back twenty minutes and he isn’t totally screwed after all.

“Come on come on come on,” he mutters frantically to himself, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as though it’ll make the lights turn green faster.

Of course, he’s catching every single red light on the way to this fucking restaurant, of _course,_ because the entire universe hates Lee Jihoon and wants him to know that Soonyoung is never right. The light finally turns green, but the distracted Honda in front of him idles for a good ten seconds. He mashes his palm against the horn and gets flipped off in response.

“Holy shit, come _on!_ ”

It’s over, he thinks, as he resists the urge to start swerving lanes like a madman in an effort to break free from the dawdling cars and hightail it out of there. It’s going to be a good forty-five minutes past their planned time for the date. Who decides to wait for almost an hour for a blind date? And even if Kim Mingyu _does_ decide to stay and wait for him, what will he think of Jihoon, some boring loser who can’t even show up to a dinner on time? It’s completely over.

This is going to end in sheer disaster.

He pulls up to the restaurant, relieved to find that there’s a few free spaces left for him to park, and nearly forgets to lock his car as he runs inside.

The interior of the restaurant is decorated with warm tones of reds and oranges and earthy browns, filled with tables of customers laughing and talking, glasses clinking, the smell of something vaguely Italian wafting from the kitchens in the back. He avoids the gazes of the dead-eyed servers and looks around frantically, prepared to start patrolling the aisles, looking for anybody tall and hot and dark-haired and Kim-Mingyu-esque sitting alone.

 _He’s not here,_ he thinks, stomach clenching nauseatingly, as he tugs at the oversized sleeves of his silk shirt and tries not to feel too foolish. _He’s not here, he already left, of course he would—_ you _would—and you’re just making a fool of yourself in front of all these people. You fucked up, Lee Jihoon._

It’s then that he spies someone sitting alone at a two-seater table. He looks tall enough and young enough from a distance, so Jihoon makes a beeline for him. As he gets closer, he spies a sharp jawline and a gorgeously curved pair of lips, hair an inky black that might be dyed.

Tall and hot.

Dark hair.

Jihoon’s mouth abruptly goes dry. That minimal description of Kim Mingyu has been running through his mind for days now, and yet facing the proof of it in the flesh with his own two eyeballs, it’s incredibly intimidating. It’s almost too impossible to believe that he’s actually on a date with a guy like _this_. That a guy like _this_ would even find him appealing.

Well, he’s already screwed up and looking like a fool. Here goes nothing.

“Sorry I was late,” he gasps out, nearly plunging into the seat as if sitting down as quickly as possible will somehow negate his lateness, “traffic was all backed up and I had to get out food for my cat and—um, it’s Mingyu, right?”

 

An impossibly awkward, but extremely rewarding blind date later, Jihoon stumbles back home with Kim Mingyu’s number added to his list of contacts on his phone, and he’s floating on cloud nine for the rest of the weekend. When he walks into work and Soonyoung sees the look of utter satisfaction on his face, his own splits into a wide grin dripping with success.

“I take it the date went well?” he says, trying his very best to not sound smug and failing wholeheartedly.

Jihoon allows it, just this once.

“Yes, okay? It did.” Jihoon can feel his cheeks burn a bit, talking about this out loud to someone, but he’s too giddy to hold it all in. “He’s—I mean—he was definitely much more than I expected.”

“You gotta tell me everything, okay?” It’s like God himself split the heavens and whispered into Soonyoung’s ear that he’s the reincarnation of cupid. Jihoon’s genuinely worried Soonyoung might dislocate something with the amount of excited wriggling and twisting his body is undergoing. “How tall is he? Was he super gorgeous? Was he nice to you? Did he kiss you at the end of the date?”

“What? _No,_ it was only the first date, shut up.” Jihoon feels like a middle school girl or something, all shy and chaste— _it was only the first date, we only held hands, oooh!_ “But I asked for his number afterwards, and he said he would like to see me again, so. I mean. Yeah.”

“Oh my god, Jihoon. Oh my god.” Soonyoung looks down at the coffee in his mug, fresh and piping hot (because he’s _always_ the first one at work, no one can figure out how he does it). He slides it over to Jihoon. “Tell me everything, in _extreme_ detail.”

As Jihoon relates as many of the events in more-or-less chronological order as he can remember, Soonyoung’s excited smile slowly slips off his face. By the end of it he’s staring at Jihoon with an expression that can only be described as dubiously bewildered.

“You were almost an hour late, spilled pasta sauce on him, basically did nothing but talk about Wonwoo the whole night, and he _still_ wanted to go out again with you? Forget being a model, this guy must have been a fucking saint in his past life or something, he sounds almost too good to be true.”

Affronted, Jihoon snaps out, “You’re the one who insisted on me following through with it. Now he’s suddenly _too_ nice and has some sort of underlying motive?”

“Jihoon, you doused the front of his shirt in pulpy tomato-blood. That’s gotta be a pretty powerful mood killer, especially for a first date.” Soonyoung looks like he’s not sure whether to be happy, proud, or suspicious. “For you to fail that badly and have him still be interested in you …”

Jihoon tosses his manuscript onto his desk with considerable force, sending a pen scattering to the floor. “You know what? Fuck off. You helped convince me to let this happen, so thank you for that, you unbelievable shit, and I’m seeing him again Thursday for lunch so you can get fucked and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Soonyoung raises his hands in a defensive gesture. “Hey, okay, don’t attack me for it. I’m happy for you, I really am. I bet he’s a great guy. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Instantly mollified, Jihoon picks his pen back up and spies Wonwoo slinking into the office and making a beeline for the break room’s coffee supply. He opens his mouth to get Wonwoo’s attention—but, being the king of getting other people’s attention, Soonyoung is already jumping up and yelling his name.

“Wonwoo! Get over here, come listen to your success story!”

“Come on, man, you know he doesn’t care,” Jihoon protests, pitying their reserved colleague for having to know someone as loud and forceful as Kwon Soonyoung.

Wonwoo walks over to them anyway, albeit with a rather puzzled expression. It’s entirely possible he’s already pushed the memory of this ordeal out of his mind.

“Success story?” he asks, bemused, as he leans against Jihoon’s desk, carefully avoiding the little Vault Boy bobblehead that he got for Jihoon two years ago for his birthday.

Their shared love for the video game series that the forever smiling Vault Boy belongs to is one of the only reasons they’re so close. Jihoon regards it with extreme fondness. He thinks of it as almost physical proof of their friendship, the kind that’s shared between two men who make a conscious effort to never show it otherwise. Wonwoo apparently likes it too, because he reaches over to adjust the bobblehead’s position and smiles when the head wobbles a bit.

“Just ignore him, Wonwoo, Soonyoung’s being a nuisance today,” Jihoon cuts in.

Soonyoung shoots him an annoyed look, but before he can retort, their supervisor calls for him and he saunters away.

Wonwoo gives the Vault Boy one last flick, sending its head bobbling into maximum overdrive, and turns to leave, but Jihoon suddenly feels the urge to say something, anything to thank him. The memory of Kim Mingyu at the date—jaw chiseled for the gods, gorgeous dark spots of freckles dotting his tan skin like stars in a sky, like they’re prizes to be found, the way he was so kind and _interested_ and smiled when he looked at Jihoon and it felt real and vivid and genuine and unlike any other smile that was ever directed to Jihoon—is still fresh in his mind, and he knows it’s a gift he might never have received if it wasn’t for Wonwoo’s assistance.

“Hey, wait,” Jihoon says, and Wonwoo stops and looks back at him. It’s difficult for Jihoon to say this out loud—normally he shows his gratitude towards others through nonverbal methods, such as buying them lunch or doing them an extra favour—but this time he thinks the delight of meeting Kim Mingyu warrants something a little more than that. “I just, um, I wanted to thank you for setting that date up for me. It was a really nice thing for you to do.”

Wonwoo stares at him for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable, face set into a cool, indifferent expression that could hide any sort of emotion behind it.

He stares at him long enough for Jihoon to almost regret thanking him, before he eventually smiles, shrugs his lanky shoulders, and says, “No problem, Jihoon.”

 

Jun spends most of the weekend alternating between glowing daydreams of Lee Jihoon and immense, painful guilt over the story he fabricated for him.

This is the kind of ridiculous situation that only plays out in those weird Asian dramas his mom always loves to watch. And in those situations, they always seem to end in happiness—not from actually solving any of the problems the relationships had, but because the couple’s “love” is so strong that despite any sense or reason they can’t stay away from each other.

And regardless of how much Jun likes Jihoon, he’s not dumb enough to think that can play out in real life in any way that can be considered healthy.

“You’ve been out of it all day,” Minghao notes, “what’s up?”

Jun is known for being friendly and helpful around the IT office. Maybe a bit too friendly and a bit too helpful; besides coming to him for advice or asking for favours, none of the other IT workers seem to care too much about getting to know him beyond that.

It’s not a purposeful exclusion, by any means, but it is one that makes itself known in the smallest ways. Whenever Jun overhears someone talking about some party that he never got an invite to attend, or hears a couple coworkers making drinking plans that never seem to include him, all he can do is smile and head on home and pretend it doesn’t bother him. It’s not that he absolutely wants to hang out with them or anything, but, well, it’s the thought that counts.

And it sure seems like nobody’s thoughts involve him.

The only one who seems to make any sort of effort to talk to him is Xu Minghao, the other Chinese member of their team and the one who shares Jun’s office space. Sometimes it’s hard to decide if that’s a good thing or not. Jun likes to think of it as a good thing. Sometimes he’s wrong.

The best way to accurately describe Xu Minghao is that he is the human personification of the unexpected and the impetuous. He’s that classmate in high school who never stood out much and yet somehow became student council president. He’s that regular at the coffee shop that orders the same thing every day, only to switch things up once you get too comfortable to ask. He is someone who reorganizes entire bookshelves in libraries to go by the colours of the rainbow instead of alphabetical order, just because he can, and he is someone who will buy DVDs of movies he’s already seen and never even open their packaging—again, just because he can. He’s a bit younger than Jun and looks deceivingly cute, only to subvert his appearance the moment he opens his big mouth.

Despite his tendency to be a smartass and binge on overpriced Starbucks drinks, he listens to Jun when no one else does. Jun kind of wishes he can call him a friend, but he’s not sure whether Minghao feels the same way. Their relationship has remained in a weird stasis of half-friendly coworker semi-professionalism for a long, long time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jun says dully.

Minghao gives him a knowing glance over his computer screen. He has a bag of Lindt chocolates on his desk, and every couple of minutes he unwraps one, cuts it in half with his letter opener, and scoops out the creamy milk chocolate filling so he can just eat the shell.

“I know you’ve been staring at that email from Karen for, like, the past ten minutes and haven’t written a single response. And you normally go through emails like you’ll get executed if you don’t finish them in time or something. So tell me what’s up.”

“I can’t, have to finish this email to Karen.”

“Fuck Karen, that bitch can’t even tell the two of us apart half the time. She once asked me if I could teach her weeaboo daughter Japanese. Anyways, that’s not important—just tell me what’s wrong so you can stop sighing all the time, it’s driving me insane.”

Jun hesitates, chewing on his lower lip. Can he trust Minghao with this information? Can he trust _anyone_ with this information? This is no longer just an embarrassing story that Minghao will likely laugh at him for, the worst of it won’t just be his coworkers finding out and snickering at him over the water cooler.

No, now he’s impersonating a stranger in order to get in the good graces of a guy he thinks is cute. Worse, he’s at least eighty percent sure he’s committing _identity theft._

But clearly he’s a person who has no impulse control, or common sense. Maybe he needs the honest opinion and advice of a third party, someone who’s (hopefully) friendly enough with him to not automatically call the cops or something, but just distant enough to speak his mind without fear of hurting any feelings.

And Minghao, if anything, is not afraid to speak his mind and hurt feelings. The man was born with all the tactful, sugarcoating grace of a blunt sword through a glass factory.

He looks up, making sure that the door to their shared office space is closed. The generic white blinds have been angled so that they can look out into the hallway, but anyone passing by cannot peer in. Then he looks back at Minghao, at his sharp eyes and pointy ears and his beloved pair of dangly silver earrings that dutifully ignore the dress code.

“Can you promise not to judge me too hard? But, like, also be real with me.”

Minghao raises a thin eyebrow at him. “I’m listening.”

Jun tells him everything.

When he finishes, Minghao has stopped even pretending to work. His hands rest motionless on either side of his keyboard, bag of Lindt forgotten, and he stares long and hard at Jun without saying a single word, long enough for it to almost be uncomfortable. The look in his eyes is one that makes Jun both feel ashamed of himself and feel unreasonably defensive.

“You’re kidding me,” Minghao eventually says, straight-faced.

Jun can feel the baffled bemusement radiating from his coworker like heat from fresh popcorn bags, and he shrinks even further into his chair.

“I’m not,” he says miserably.

“Jun, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And one of the most ridiculous. You’re _pretending_ to be somebody you don’t even know so you can keep seeing this guy?” Minghao pauses, mulling over what he had just been told, and squints at him. “You said his name was Kim Mingyu?”

“Yep.”

“Uhh, you’re not even Korean?”

“ _Look_ , whatever, okay?” Jun blusters out, cheeks burning. “It’s happening and I don’t know how to stop it. Help me. Please.”

Minghao looks like he kind of wants to laugh. Or maybe cry. He’s very good at making Jun feel like an idiot. “Jun, this is insane. And not going to work. Just, like, tell him the truth?”

“After we already had the entire first date? And set up a second one? After I already entered my name into his phone as Kim _fucking_ Mingyu?” Jun buries his face into his hands, groaning loudly. “I can’t exactly just see him again on Thursday and be like, ‘Yeah, so, I actually lied and I’m not the guy you were supposed to be on a date with the other night, please forgive me and continue dating me and let me change my name in your contacts real quick’. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and also the best, and I—look, I really like this guy, alright? I wasn’t planning on everything turning out like this, but it did and I think he’s really great and I don’t want to fuck this up more than I already have. I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a long silence. The awful plastic clock on the wall, the one that both of them hate but neither are willing to shell out the personal cash to replace, ticks the seconds loudly and obnoxiously away. Jun stares down at his sweaty palms and regrets life.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Minghao eventually says. “I will help you with this bullshit, but only on the condition that you tell him the truth by the end of the month.”

“One month?” Jun squeaks.

“ _One_ month,” Minghao repeats, voice firm. “I’m being awfully generous here, Jun, this is so fucking stupid. If you need me to back up your story or whatever, act like I’m a friend of Kim Mingyu’s, I’ll be there. But if this turns into something serious—if you somehow decide that you really do like this guy and you want this to be a real thing—then for god’s sakes, you better buck up the courage to tell him you’re a fake by the time the month is up, or I’ll do it myself. You get me?”

A fake. Jun cringes at the sound of that, the bitter pill he has to swallow. _A fake._

“I will, I promise,” he rambles weakly. “Thank you, Minghao, I’m serious. Thank you so much.”

Minghao rolls his eyes at him and grabs for another Lindt chocolate, peeling off the blue wrapping.

“You’re making a horrible mistake,” he tells him, painfully honest and dispassionately, in proper Xu Minghao fashion.

Then he pops the entire chocolate into his mouth, filling and all.

 

Their second date approaches faster than Jun anticipated. Careful, awkwardly polite texts are exchanged, locations and activities are planned, and suddenly he’s standing out front of a dim sum restaurant one Saturday afternoon, obsessively checking his phone.

Jihoon arrives exactly on time, perhaps self-conscious over how late he was the last date. He’s also cleaned himself up, his haggard appearance from before out of sight and out of mind, his diluted rose-rust head of hair neatly styled (he can’t do anything about those streaks of black starting to show at the roots, though, but that’s all right). Apparently, he’s not used to dressing for careful-but-casual date outfits—he made the odd choice to pair a semi-formal collared shirt and dress pants with a denim jacket. The dress pants are too long and bunch up awkwardly around his ankles, and the Nike sneakers just sort of make it all even worse.

He smiles nervously when he sees Jun standing there and waiting. They make an odd, jerking, stiff motion towards each other—like they were both going for a handshake, or maybe a hug, and both decided against it.

“You look nice,” he finally mumbles, cheeks going as pink as his hair.

Jun looks down at his own outfit. Black skinny jeans, bomber jacket, a nice striped shirt. It suits him well and he knows he looks good in it, and it’s also the exact replica of the last outfit he wore to his last date. He decides not to tell Jihoon that.

“You, uh, do too.”

Jihoon hunches up his shoulders, going even pinker. “I wasn’t sure how—fancy I should dress. Maybe I should’ve just worn jeans.”

Jeans probably would’ve made the whole ensemble much easier to take in, but Jun suddenly adores those ridiculous, too-long dress pants. “No, no, you look great. Shall we go inside?”

The dim sum restaurant is a colourful, mishmash array of vibrant yellow tablecloths, tasseled drapery hanging from the windows, and metal carts stuffed with plates and steamer baskets. They’re directed to a small round table near the center of the hall, where they’re served old teapots that spill green tea along the sides of its spout and a chipped plate of breadsticks.

“This place is my favourite,” Jun says, debating between shrugging off his jacket or leaving it on. They use their air conditioner quite liberally in here. “The rice noodle rolls are to die for. And the chicken feet.”

“Sounds good,” Jihoon says, staring intensely at the plastic-laminated menu sheet they’ve been given. “I haven’t been to dim sum since our company banquet like two years ago. They got those shrimp dumplings?”

“ _Har gow?_ Yeah, of course.”

“Wow, you know how to say it right and everything. Your pronunciation is really good, y’know, for a Korean dude.”

“Umm, yeah. Ha ha.” Jun’s voice sounds so fake and high-pitched, it’s a wonder Jihoon doesn’t notice. “Wow, look at those pork buns! Let’s grab them.”

They stop the passing carts and stock up on pork buns and egg tarts, _har gow_ dumplings and rice noodle rolls, turnip cake and sesame balls and shrimp _siu mai._ There’s a moment of awkwardness when the dishes arrive in groups of three, and they aren’t exactly sure how to split it between the two of them. Jun tries cutting them in half with his chopsticks, but after accidentally flinging a sesame ball into the depths of a nearby tablecloth (which both Jun and Jihoon desperately pretend to ignore with stifled laughter), they settle for rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets the last pieces on each dish.

“Shit, you were right,” Jihoon groans, cheeks bulging and a bit of sauce smeared along the corner of his lips. “This is _so good._ ”

“Right?” Jun pretends he isn’t staring by taking a sip of the weak green tea, fingers awkwardly dancing around the smooth porcelain of the cup to find a configuration that won’t burn him. “I come here all the time. Not as fun alone, though.”

“Oh.” Jihoon squirms in his chair. “You don’t come with, um, other people?”

“Nah, my coworkers are usually too busy.”

“No—” Jihoon stares down at his plate. “That’s not what I meant. No, um, partners?”

It takes Jun a moment to process what he’s asking. He nearly chokes. “Oh. U-um. No, I … I haven’t before.”

“I see.” Jihoon’s ears are burning red, and he pokes and prods at an egg roll on his plate with his chopsticks instead of looking up. “How long, um, has it been for you? I mean, seeing someone. On a date.” He licks his lips, a flash of pink and a nervous habit. “Like this one.”

“About … eight months, I think? Maybe longer.” Jun shrugs, pretending to act nonchalant so he doesn’t feel so self-conscious. “He was this guy I met at some party I went to. It was nice, but it didn’t really go anywhere.”

“No chemistry?”

“More like I wasn’t ready for the commitment.” Er, might not be the best thing to say on a date. “Well, not exactly. I just … I’ve never been the type of person that always needed to be with someone to be happy. I don’t mind being alone. And that guy, I didn’t see myself being any happier with him than I would be with just myself.” He sinks a bit in his seat. Why is he saying something so stupid when he’s trying to impress Jihoon? “Sorry for sounding so weird.”

To his immense surprise, Jihoon perks up. “No, I totally get it. I-I’m the same way. I mean, there’s just so much more out there than wanting to date somebody. I can never understand why being alone is seen as such a bad thing.”

“I’m glad,” Jun stutters. “That you understand how I feel, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Jihoon gives him a small smile. “I get it.”

They finish eating, and to Jun’s surprise Jihoon is the one who pays for the meal. He wasn’t expecting it; they’re both adults, and for that matter they’re both men, there isn’t really a dating etiquette they feel obligated to follow and splitting the bill is just fine. But Jihoon firmly swats his hand away and pulls out his own wallet, that impossibly endearing little glower on his face that indicates he made up his mind, so Jun sits back and is appropriately thankful, which makes them both happy.

“It’s barely one-thirty,” Jihoon notes, checking his phone as they exit the restaurant. “Strange, it felt like longer.”

“Do you have any other plans?” Jun asks.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow at him with a half-smirk. It’s quite possibly the most comfortable they’ve felt around each other so far, and it seems like neither of them are ready to abandon that momentum. “Asking me out on the third date already? Pretty forward.”

“This doesn’t count as the third date. This is … like … a continuation of the one we’re having right now.” Jun turns and points. “There’s a mini golf place in the next plaza. Glow-in-the-dark.”

“Like, a place for birthday parties for kids?”

“Happy birthday. We’re all children inside. C’mon, let’s go.”

Jihoon’s lips twitch, and for a single blessed moment he has a real smile on his face, one that’s genuine and wholesome and unfettered by shyness or insecurity. Jun can’t believe how staggered he is by a simple smile, but it gives him more of an idea of who Lee Jihoon really is than any conversation they’ve had so far.

It gives him an idea of a Lee Jihoon who’s mischievous and grumpy; who laughs when people do something stupid; who swears like a sailor if he stubs his toe; who gets snappy and snide if he doesn’t drink coffee in the mornings. It shapes Jihoon into less of a caricature and more of an actual human being, someone who might one day swear or snap at Jun as casually as he would to his friends, or show up at a date wearing three-days-old sweatpants because he’s comfortable enough to stop caring. And none of that is bad—it’s a glorious, transformative thing, and in that single smile Jun thinks he can see an entire future of promises and possibility.

Jun wonders if he has a smile that looks like that. If his smile can make Jihoon feel this way. He doubts it.

The whites of their shirts, their eyes, their teeth, all glow a faint green when they step into the mini golf indoor course. The painted walls look like rolling hills of neon fields, lumpy plastic rocks and hills serving as obstacles. Jun’s got to bend down an awful lot to feel comfortable with the knee-high clubs. Jihoon seems more at home with the miniature everything, but Jun wisely keeps his mouth shut on the matter.

Jihoon must know what he’s thinking, because he gives Jun a good swat at the ankles as he passes by.

“Ow,” Jun says, although it doesn’t hurt all that much.

“I’m gonna kick your ass in this game,” Jihoon warns.

“Just try it.” Jun sets down a glowing yellow plastic ball. His swings are too wild, always too forceful or too gentle—he’s lucky there is a significant lack of other players on the course, because most of his shots go airborne and ricochet off cheaply-made windmills and smiling clouds chipping into nightmare fuel from old paint. Jihoon howls with laughter every single time, even when the ball goes dangerously close to his face and a dead-eyed teenage employee has to ask them to chill out.

Jihoon wins, in the end, and looks altogether too pleased with himself despite the lack of competition. Jun hands in his club amidst their amiable jokes about masterful ball-handling, and they’re laughing and grinning and nudging each other and what, that took no time at all, they can’t leave yet there’s still so much they can do together.

“There’s a dessert place nearby,” Jun says as casually as he can. “Got a sweet tooth?”

“Not at all,” Jihoon says, but he has the most _unfair_ dimples when he smiles, the curl of his mouth a dangerous sort of lazy—like a languid cat—and he follows Jun anyway.

The dessert place is possibly the least romantic date spot after movie theatres and brunch joints; it’s full of screaming kids and irate parents and smells like the inside of a chocolate cake. Jihoon looks utterly out of place in here, grimacing at the dead-eyed mothers wiping syrup off their toddlers with baby wipes—Jun would describe him as looking like a rose amongst thorns, but Jihoon is neither a rose or a thorn, he’s something else entirely.

Jihoon can’t stand sweet things. It’s entirely unsurprising.

After dessert, Jun suggests visiting an intriguing music store “offhandedly” and is only mildly shocked that Jihoon agrees. Then, when they’re walking back towards Jihoon’s bus stop, Jihoon casually expresses interest in going to a pet store to get food for his cat. And suddenly Jun finds himself walking Jihoon back to his apartment, carrying the heavy bag of cat food (Jihoon really spends _that_ much every time?) because he’s stronger, it’s only _right,_ and wow when did it get so dark out?

The sky has melted from a deep blue into a few shades lighter than velvety black, the streetlamps blinking on one by one like fireflies in a golden crowd. Jihoon looks softer whenever they pass directly underneath the light, his features rounding and smoothing.

“I can carry it, if you want,” he offers.

Jun shifts. The plastic handles of the bag are digging into the joints of his fingers. “Nah, it’s not heavy at all.”

“I’ve carried that thing before, I know you’re a liar. It’s not even for your cat, anyway.” He reaches out, but Jun hoists it higher out of reach.

“It’s fine. We can take turns.”

“That’s dumb.” But Jihoon’s cheeks look a little darker when they pass under the next light, an embarrassed little smile on his face. “You don’t need to … to spoil me or whatever. I’m a grown-ass man.”

Jun stares straight ahead. “Maybe I. Um. Want to. Spoil you, I mean.”

Jihoon trips on a crack in the sidewalk. “I—uh—that’s not—”

“N-not in a weird way. Just in a. Like. Casual, date-y way. Like holding open doors or pulling out chairs or whatever.”

Jihoon makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Oh my god, Soonyoung was right. I mean, um. I’d rather you didn’t with the holding doors or chairs or whatever, I’m not that fragile. But other casual date-y stuff is fine. I guess. If you wanted.”

Jun’s ears are about to burst into flames. He switches the bag into his other hand, freeing his cramping fingers while also casually making sure Jihoon notices the hand closest to him is now open to hold. Jihoon doesn’t immediately go to clasp their fingers together, and for a moment Jun thinks he made a huge mistake.

“So, is this okay?” Jihoon asks. His voice is a little small. “If we … continue. Dating. Like, as something exclusive or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Jun croaks out without a second thought. “Yeah, totally. I’m totally into it.”

“Oh.” The answer comes faintly, like a weakening squeak. “Cool.”

 _Now’s the time,_ Jun thinks. _Tell him the truth. If you do it now, he might just forgive you. Do it!_

“Jun?”

His head snaps up on reflex, Jihoon following suit. Minghao is standing right in front of them, a bag of late-night groceries in his hands. His blood runs cold.

Minghao’s eyes turn wide. He flits between Jun and Jihoon, back and forth. “Uh. J—”

“ _Hao!_ ” Jun shrieks. “Hao, wow, I haven’t seen you in a while! How’s, uh, life?” He turns to Jihoon, aware that his voice is coming in too shrill and manic. “Oh man, this is Minghao, he’s uh, my work friend. Friend from work. Coworker friend.”

“Right,” Minghao says slowly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh,” Jihoon says. “You’re Mingyu’s friend?”

“Yyyyes.” Minghao blinks rapidly. “Mingyu. Yes. I indeed am friends with … Mingyu.”

“Um, okay,” Jihoon falters. “What did you call him earlier?”

“Nothing,” Jun says quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Hao’s a funny guy like that. Anyway, Hao, this is, uh, Jihoon. The guy I told you about. I’m just walking him back home. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

Jihoon leans in closer and mutters, “Hey, listen, I don’t mind if you, um, wanna stay and talk to him for a bit. You don’t need to hurry him off because of me.”

“No, absolutely not. Minghao is already leaving. Already gone. He’s leaving, right _now._ ” Jun stares meaningfully at Minghao, as if he can will him to turn around and scatter with the inherent powers of his brain alone. Unfortunately, Minghao is immune to his charms and just continues staring blankly away, standing there with his bags of dorito chips and vitamin water like a damn fool.

“Yep,” he eventually says. “Yep, not interested in conversing. Gonna go now. Talk to Mingyu later. Yeah. Bye, Jun—Jihoon. And Mingyu.”

And he turns around and walks away.

“So that’s a friend of yours,” Jihoon muses, watching Minghao’s skinny frame retreat and occasionally look back at them over his shoulder like a paranoid owl. “I gotta admit he seems a little … skittish?”

“You can say weird, it’s okay.”

“Weird. Yeah. He’s definitely weird. Is he always like that?”

They start walking again. Cars honk loudly in the distance; a (drunken) voice bursts into laughter out of sight. “No. Well, I mean, yes, he is weird, but I don’t know if he’s always like that. He’s a little less weird at work. And outside of personal situations.”

“Is this your first time seeing him in a personal situation?” Jihoon squints up at him. “Like buying groceries?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We, um. Are friends strictly inside work.” Jun looks around, scanning the nighttime streets in an effort to hide the sudden prickling up his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him outside of our office. Kinda embarrassing, calling him a friend, I guess.” He hunches up his shoulders. “Ha. Ha.”

Jihoon eyes him carefully. “Am I stepping into a bag of worms here?”

“That’s not the right way to say it, and maybe.” Jun shuffles his feet, looks down at the scuffed parts of his boots. “Um, maybe let’s not talk about it right now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jihoon stops walking, and Jun almost barrels right into him. It might be from staring at the darkest parts of his roots at the nape of his neck, or maybe because he’s carried forwards by the extra momentum of the cat food. “Here’s my apartment. Hey, thanks for carrying that for me.”

“Oh. Yeah, no problem.” Jun hands the bag to him, his muscles screaming in complaint. He doesn’t want this day to ever end—doesn’t want to come back down to reality, where he isn’t Kim Mingyu and he doesn’t deserve any of these moments with Lee Jihoon—but he forces himself to be a man about it. “Today was nice.”

“Yes. It was.” Jihoon shifts from foot to foot, his gaze unrelenting and expectant. Is he waiting for something?

“I had fun. I hope you had fun too. That would be terrible if you, uh, didn’t.” Jun’s mind briefly freezes up, the panic sinking in. “Did you have fun? I mean, did you enjoy yourself—with—me? Like, as company or whatever. That wouldn’t be great if I was the only one who had fun and you didn’t—”

“Oh, for fucking _Christ’s sakes,_ ” Jihoon snaps, before dropping the bag of cat food and dragging Jun in by the collar of his bomber jacket.

So that’s what Jihoon kisses like. He’s pretty inexperienced, his lack of finesse made up for quite a bit by sheer enthusiasm and also the fact that he’s Lee Jihoon and Jun’s pretty much enamoured with him. To be fair, Jun doubts he’s kissing back any better, but he’s equally as excited to practice. Jihoon’s lips are soft and he has to stretch up so much to reach Jun, a hand reaching around to grab at the back of Jun’s neck and pull him down further. It’s an awkward, uncomfortable position to be in, but holy shit he’s really going on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss and Jun’s ready to stay like this forever.

All too soon, Jihoon pulls away. “God, are you stupid or something? How many more hints does a guy have to make?”

Jun can’t really look away from him. He’s completely dazed. Did Jihoon always look this handsome? “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t thinking about … that happening.”

“Of course not. I swear, you’re completely oblivious.” Jihoon scoffs, his hair now completely mussed. Jun can’t remember running his fingers through it, but now he’s aching to do it again. “And for the record—yes. _That_ was a nice night.”

Jun’s second date ends with him stumbling home, starry-eyed and grinning like a moron, too doped up on happiness to remember that he was supposed to tell Jihoon the truth about himself.

 

Soonyoung can hardly believe that Jihoon is so _compliant_ these days. He would call it post-sex glow, but Jihoon swears up and down that they still haven’t gone to that stage yet. They’re just—“doing really well” is how he puts it when he’s feeling optimistic, which in Soonyoung’s world means they are going to announce their engagement in five months. Either way, when Soonyoung asks him to come to a party, Jihoon’s in such a good mood that he actually agrees, and Wonwoo has to grab Soonyoung a glass of water because he damn near starts to choke with excitement.

It’s not that Jihoon hates parties, but he finds them boring and unremarkable. They exhaust him both mentally and physically after a couple of hours, and it’s guaranteed to be filled with people he either doesn’t know or doesn’t like. He prefers get-togethers, a couple of friends getting drunk off their asses privately. Soonyoung getting hammered off of eight shots of vodka and a handful of gin-soaked gummy bears. Wonwoo still just as quiet and morose and cool-headed as ever, except his face is the distinct shade of cherries. Occasionally Seungkwan and Seokmin busting out the karaoke machine.

But hey, what the hell. The world is young and bright and full of surprises. He’s been sleeping great lately, work has been slightly less unbearable, and Kim Mingyu is a part of his life and in constant texting communication. He’s ready to face new challenges.

The party is at some coworker’s place, the thirteenth floor of a high-rise apartment in the city. Jihoon doesn’t trust buildings that have tiles of black marble and bellhops who act like you’re incapable of pressing the right button on your own, but the whiskey Soonyoung’s been sporadically feeding him since they met up to take a taxi together does wonders on his resolve. He feels almost confident when he walks into the apartment.

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, blinking dully at the two of them with a beer in his hand. “Hey.”

“When did you get here?” Jihoon asks.

“Never mind that,” Soonyoung says, “Wonwoo, compliment Jihoon’s outfit.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Of course he does, I picked it out. Wonwoo, tell him it looks great.”

“It looks great,” Wonwoo repeats slowly. “Actually, it looks like what you usually wear to work.”

“It is.”

Soonyoung pouts. “I picked out as much as he would let me. But hey, check out his shoes! Those are fancy.”

Wonwoo looks down. “Yeah. They’re fancy.”

“Okay, I already hate this,” Jihoon snaps. “I’m gonna get a drink and greet the host. The …” He trails off, staring at the two of them meaningfully.

“It’s Jeonghan, you idiot. Yoon Jeonghan. How do you even go about living your life?”

“Okay, Jeonghan, _whatever._ ” Jihoon glares at the two of them and sidles away. He does indeed remember Yoon Jeonghan after actually seeing his face—Jeonghan is one of those pretty types that everyone seems to know and like to some extent, and one of the top producers in their company—and he gives the customary greetings and small talk before escaping to grab a beer.

The music is loud and bass-heavy, and the people are all dressed in crisp, ironed shirts and shiny skirts. Jihoon recognizes most of their faces, but there are just enough that he doesn’t to make him nervous. He escapes into the kitchen and hogs a spot by the chip bowls, nodding and giving awkward half-smiles to everyone who passes by for a drink. Taking on new challenges already seems like a shitty idea. He should’ve just stayed home with Chun-Li and talked to Mingyu on the phone.

“Sorry,” someone says. “Just need to squeeze by you for a sec.”

Jihoon slides out of the way. A tall, handsome man with tanned skin reaches over to grab a glass from the cupboard directly above him. “Sorry,” the stranger says with an easygoing grin, revealing a mouthful of white teeth with a bit of a wolfish charm to them. “Are you part of Albatross?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, a little bit suspiciously. “I’m a proofreader. What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t work at Albatross. Just a friend of a friend.” The stranger shrugs. “Honestly, I kinda regret coming. I don’t know anybody here.”

“Honestly, same with me, and I actually work with these people.” The stranger snorts, and Jihoon finds himself relaxing somewhat. “Want a drink of something?”

“Just soda, I’m the designated driver tonight. Thanks.” Jihoon, having grown intimately acquainted with the layout of Yoon Jeonghan’s kitchen, helps grab a 2-litre bottle of sprite from the fridge and fills the stranger’s glass with it. “What made you come to this party?”

“Bad decisions and a false sense of security around the nosiest man alive,” Jihoon replies. “I only have to suffer for a few more hours before it’s polite enough for me to call a taxi and go back to my cat.”

The stranger snickers. “I’m more of a dog person.”

“You have shit taste, then.”

“I’ll have you know, cats hate me. They scratch me every time I try and pet them.”

“That’s because they know you’re a dog person.” Jihoon leans against the counter, sipping his drink. This guy’s easy to talk to. Who knows? Maybe this party won’t be a total waste of time after all. He doubts he’d feel this comfortable talking to someone new if he never took that chance to get to know Mingyu. Funny, how something cool and exciting and different can actually change his entire outlook.

“Probably.” The stranger looks over his shoulder and grins even wider. “Oh, Wonwoo! Hey, man.”

Jihoon turns around. Wonwoo is standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his usual aura of quiet disinterest. “Hey. I was trying to find you, I think I left my phone in your car.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go down and get it before you get withdrawal symptoms.” The stranger gives Jihoon a friendly clap on the shoulder; he’s at least a good head or so taller, and the force of the impact nearly makes Jihoon’s knees buckle. “Nice meeting you!”

He sets his cup of sprite down and walks away.

“That was weird,” Wonwoo remarks.

“That guy seems pretty nice,” Jihoon says, smiling. “Who is he? Your friend?”

Wonwoo stares at him, long and hard, but strangely enough Jihoon can detect a faint trace of bafflement in his expression.

“That,” Wonwoo says slowly, “was Kim Mingyu. Remember? The guy you stood up on your blind date?”

 

“Have you told him yet?” Minghao asks.

Jun wiggles uncomfortably in his seat. “Nnnno. Not yet. I’m working up to it, though. It’s really, it’s leading up there.”

“Mm-hmm.” Minghao looks back down at his computer, but frustration is etched into the faint grooves between his eyebrows. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Jun?”

“Yes, thank you for constantly reminding me.” Jun’s trying, he really is. The time limit Minghao’s set for him is reaching closer and closer to its deadline, but Jun’s no closer to revealing the truth to Jihoon as before. Every time he wants to, thinks he has the courage, that the time is right, something happens and he misses his chance. He’s dangerously aware of how close he is to the line separating harmless mistake from actual dick move.

“The month’s almost up, Jun,” Minghao says. Instead of a bag of lindt, he now has a plastic tub of tootsie roll pops that he keeps only halfway eating and then throwing out once he reaches the gum part in the center. His gel pen set is lined up on the side of his desk, not in rainbow order, but in order of how much ink they have left in their little cartridges.

“Fully aware, Hao.”

“You do realize it’s only gonna get worse the longer you keep it a secret?” Minghao points out. “Like, before it was already pretty awful, but now you’ve been on, what, two and a half dates with this guy, made out on some doorstep like a shitty _Singin’ in the Rain_ remake, and both of you are planning on making this serious and he still calls you by the wrong name? Like, what, are you still gonna refer to yourself as Kim Mingyu when you guys have se—”

“No, _obviously!_ ” Jun offers a sheepish smile at the passing IT guys giving their office weird looks, hoping against all odds that they didn’t overhear too much of the conversation. They really should close the door. “Look, thanks for helping me out that one time, alright? But I’m gonna tell him, I promise. I’m just—figuring out what to say.”

“Jun.” Minghao’s tone is reproachful. Jun shrinks in on himself, but he can’t help bristling a bit at the way Minghao reprimands him like a mother to a mischievous child.

“Hey, don’t judge me,” he snaps. “I-I just—you wouldn’t understand, okay? It’s stupid. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me, then.”

They look at each other over the space between them, their computers, their desks, the invisible wall that’s always been carefully kept between them, keeping them from ever getting too close or too far apart. And Jun’s suddenly sick of it. He’s sick of pretending like the superficial ties he has grounding him to reality are anything real, that the people he calls friends are barely better than convenient acquaintances. He may be happy being alone, but he sure doesn’t like the feeling of being lonely.

“Meeting Jihoon’s been the only time where I felt like someone genuinely gave a shit about me, alright? Not in a phony way, just a—a real way. A way that doesn’t feel fake, like everything else in my life.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just keeps staring at him with that unchangeable stare.

Eventually, he says, “So, is our friendship fake, then?”

Jun stares right back. He wasn’t expecting that response. He also wasn’t expecting the actual _hurt_ in Minghao’s voice, the imperceptible tightening around his vowels and the way his shoulders slump just a little bit—utterly unnoticeable, except Jun _does_ notice it, because this is Minghao and they’ve worked together for so long already and they can read each other like an open book. And—oh. Oh. Oh, they really are friends. They’ve been friends for a long time.

“Shit, man,” he says weakly, “I didn’t realize you—felt that way.”

Minghao looks away and stares out the office window, purposefully breaking their gaze and removing himself from the vulnerability of it. “This isn’t a love confession, dipshit. Look, you don’t exactly—show that it bothers you, you know what I mean? You act like everything’s totally okay, that you don’t _want_ people to talk to you or get to know you. I mean, when a guy willingly goes to eat by himself every weekend without wanting company, you start to get the feeling that this guy doesn’t want anyone bothering him personally.”

“Well, of course I do,” Jun splutters. He never—he didn’t think—did they all think that, his other IT coworkers? Did they all think it was because he didn’t _care,_ because he didn’t show how much it bothered him? “I don’t think anybody wants to be left out for the rest of their lives.”

Minghao pulls out a tootsie pop from his tub. He spins it between his thin, bird claw fingers, considers it somberly.

“You still only get the end of the month,” he says. “At least, before I lose my shit and out you in the least coolest way possible. But for what it’s worth, Jun, I really hope he forgives you for your stupidity.”

And then, for the first time since they’ve known each other, he tosses Jun the tootsie pop and shares his minor eccentricities with him.

 

Jun thinks Jihoon seems different this time, for their third date. More closed off, more reserved. He’s not really someone who’s very open about his feelings anyway, but for Jun, it’s enough to make him get a little nervous. Everything seemed to be going so well before. When the two of them sit at their regular table, Jihoon unsmiling and ordering only a light appetizer from the waitress, Jun’s stomach twists and he immediately thinks Jihoon’s about to break up with him.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks, hesitantly. Is Jihoon mad at him? Was he being too distant? Too clingy?

Jihoon doesn’t meet his gaze, which instantly tells Jun that he’s both nervous and upset; instead, Jihoon stares firmly at the hole in the tablecloth, tapping his finger against it incessantly. Jun wishes he can reach out to hold that hand, so perfect for him to pull into his palm—but he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

“You told me your name was Kim Mingyu,” Jihoon says, quietly. Jun’s stomach drops to the bottom of his soles. “You lied.”

He should’ve known this was coming—should’ve admitted it himself, a long time ago—but all Jun feels is panic and regret and guilt when he hastily says, “Jihoon, I can explain—”

“Was this all—all some big joke? Were you making fun of me or something? Was this _funny_ to you?” Jihoon’s voice breaks a little at the end, and Jun knows that if Jihoon looked up from the tablecloth there would be tears in his eyes. Embarrassed, hot, humiliated tears. Jun wonders why he’s not yelling at him now, not throwing his glass of wine into his face like they do in the movies before storming out of the restaurant. He wonders why Jihoon doesn’t sound angry—only heartbroken. “Who are you, really?”

“It wasn’t a joke, I wasn’t—god, I’m such a fucking asshole, Jihoon, but I can explain, I promise, I’m _sorry,_ I just—”

“Here you are,” a cheery waiter says, appearing with platters of food and putting a halt to Jun’s frantic apologies. It’s almost too awkward to handle, waiting in silence as the server gives them plates of pasta and even refills their salt and pepper shakers at the center of the table, seemingly utterly immune to the tense silence at the table as Jun and Jihoon wait for him to take a hint and leave them the fuck alone.

“If there’s anything else you need, don’t be afraid to ask me—”

“ _Thank_ you,” Jun says pointedly, foot tapping an impatient mile a minute and hands clenched into annoyed fists in his lap.

The waiter leaves, and it’s like all the fire and confrontation has sizzled out between them. Jihoon looks tired and defeated when he gives Jun a waving gesture that seems to mean, _go on and explain, then._

“My name is Wen Junhui,” Jun says, stuttering over his words in his effort to get them out of his mouth while he still has the chance to make things right, “Jun for short, that’s what everyone calls me. I’m not Kim Mingyu. I have no idea who Jeon Wonwoo is. Everything else I’ve told you has been the truth—I really am an IT worker, that apartment was mine, Minghao is really my friend from the same company—besides telling you I was Mingyu and pretending I knew Wonwoo, nothing I’ve told you has really been a lie.”

Jihoon doesn’t speak for a long, long time. “So,” he eventually says, words stiff, “so when I sat at your table, at the blind date—”

“Wrong table,” Jun says miserably, watching numerous horrified expressions flash across Jihoon’s face and merging into a confusing cloud of shame that makes him look like he wants to jump off a bridge. “I assume the real Kim Mingyu was somewhere else in the restaurant. Or left already.”

“Why—why would you even pretend to be a different person?” Jihoon stammers out, sounding furious but not actually looking it; he’s still too embarrassed to be angry, it seems.

“Why would you assume that I was Kim Mingyu?” Jun demands right back, feeling heat burn his ears and cheeks until he thinks he might burst into molten lava. That actually sounds far nicer in comparison to what the two of them are going through right now. “Didn’t you get a picture or something? A description, at least?”

“I—Wonwoo didn’t tell me anything! He just said he was tall and hot, and I—I was already so late and I didn’t even want to go to the stupid blind date anyway, I saw you and you were—”

“Tall and hot?” Jun allows himself two seconds to feel flattered while Jihoon shoots him an unimpressed, flustered glare.

“ _Yes,_ alright? You were the first guy I saw sitting by himself, tall and dark-haired and tan and fucking gorgeous, and I didn’t think twice about you being anyone else other than Kim Mingyu. But clearly I was wrong, and I—I—” Jihoon hunches forwards and buries his face into his hands, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck a bright pink, sounding tortured, “—how am I so stupid? You don’t even look _Korean!”_

“I’m very, very Chinese,” Jun replies weakly.

“I’m so stupid. I can’t believe—all this time—I thought you were—but you weren’t—” Jihoon raises his head to glare at Jun, hair messed up and eyes gleaming with frustration and embarrassment and held-back tears, cheeks red and entirely beautiful and taking Jun’s breath away. “How could you even lie about something like that? For—for almost a whole month! How could you even think you’d get away with it?”

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” Jun admits. “I—I was going to tell you soon, I swear. Minghao—I only gave myself the end of this month, and before then I would tell you no matter what.”

“Then what were you thinking of, huh?” Jihoon shoots back. “What were your reasons? What could make you _possibly_ decide impersonating someone would even work—”

“I just—I liked you, okay?” Jihoon stops mid-rant and stares at him, disbelieving. “You were the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and you were so nervous and interesting and I wasn’t even thinking, I just—I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

And that’s it, Jun thinks dismally, there’s the whole story. It wasn’t pity that made him lie in the first place. It wasn’t kindness to save a stranger from embarrassment. It was because he had seen Jihoon and had felt a magnetic pull so strong it stole his breath away, something so instinctive and beautiful it compelled someone as average and mild-mannered as him to do something ridiculous.

And if asked if he would make the same stupid mistakes, he would. He would do it all over again, every single idiotic decision, again and again, just to be given the chance to be with Jihoon for even this short time.

When Jihoon doesn’t answer, Jun sighs and quietly says, “I’m sorry for lying to you all this time. It was supposed to be just a one-night thing, one awkward and terrible blind date that you’ll walk away from and we’ll never see each other again. But then you still wanted to see me, and I—I couldn’t say no. I wanted to see you, too. One thing led to another, and the story kept spinning bigger and bigger, and suddenly I found no way out of it. I’m so sorry, Jihoon. I was being selfish, trying to live a lie just so I can be with you a little longer, but I never wanted to hurt you like this. I’m really sorry.”

Jihoon doesn’t answer.

The seconds tick by. People talk and laugh and scrape forks against plates all around them, the atmosphere that of a warm and cozy family restaurant, but it feels like a completely different world. Separate. Detached. Jun’s heart sinks a little further down into his intestines with each tense breath, waiting for Jihoon to cut off all ties and tell him to go fuck himself.

“Pretending to be someone else just so you can go on a date with someone is crazy,” Jihoon eventually says, and Jun feels every organ in his body physically clench in anguish. “Wanting to stay with someone who does that is crazy.”

“I know,” Jun says, numbly reaching for his jacket to make his shameful exit out of Jihoon’s life. Instead, Jihoon holds up a hand to stop him.

“So,” he says, words clumsy and shaking slightly, cheeks still a mortified pink, “so does that make me crazy too? For still wanting to stay with you?”

For a moment, Jun truly doesn’t think he can breathe. “Wait,” he says, stupid and clumsy and voice echoing oddly inside his head like some sort of shitty inner conscience, “wait, what are you saying?”

“I’m not—I’m not _saying_ anything!” Jihoon glares resolutely at his plate, not making any move to touch the food on it. “I’m just—saying—that I’m weighing the options right now. Maybe once I think it through, my mind will change. But right now, I’m considering the possibility of starting over and learning about you—the _real_ you—and finding a way to make this work, or just cutting all ties and leaving this all behind me. And right now, the second option fucking sucks and makes my heart hurt, so I’m willing to try out option one.”

“Even after what I did?” Jun’s voice is pitifully weak, like a child’s, soft and plaintive and so so so desperate for a bit of hope. “After all my lies? You’re still willing to try this?”

Jihoon lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Like I said, crazy.”

“Wow.” Jun balks. “I mean. Wow. I’m really, _really_ sorry.”

“Yeah, you really should be.” Jihoon picks up his spoon. “Let’s just finish this dinner and figure out the rest later. Okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Jun can’t believe his luck. It’s surely going to run out soon enough—right? “It sounds great. Perfect. Whatever you want, 100%, you call the shots—”

“Mingy—Jun.” Jihoon levels him with a dead stare. “Don’t ruin this.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m an idiot.”

They dig into their food for a few moments in silence, the atmosphere around them difficult to get a read on, to tell where they are really standing with each other. But then Jihoon gives him a shy little glance over his pasta, says, “Did you really do all that because you liked me?”, and even beneath all the embarrassment and lingering traces of anger and broken trust, he sounds a little flattered.

“I was completely crazy about you the moment I first saw you,” Jun says, and Jihoon’s cheeks go pink and his eyes light up and his mouth does this crooked thing where it might be smiling or not, and Jun thinks maybe—if he’s careful and very, very lucky—this might turn out okay after all.

 

It takes a lot more than an awkward date to get Jihoon to fully forgive him. More like three or four. Maybe five, if Jun counts the one where he met Soonyoung and Wonwoo and Soonyoung looked about ready to kill him if he so much as breathed wrong (Wonwoo, on the other hand, looked faintly amused). Or maybe six, if he counts the one where they ran into Minghao again and Hao forgot they weren’t doing the whole “pretend I’m Kim Mingyu in front of this guy” bit anymore.

Jun was right, in the end. When Jihoon grows comfortable around him, he stops trying to dress up nicely for their dates, which sort of works out great in the end because he looks better when he’s not trying too hard. He swears a mile a minute when he gets anxious or stressed or—anything, really—and has a terrible case of road rage in the case of stupid or distracted drivers. His pretty little cat, Chun-Li, is shown more love and affection and softness than Jun will probably ever receive from Jihoon in a lifetime. But hey, he’s not gonna get jealous of a cat—and Chun-Li _is_ a very pretty girl. Wow, those ears. So soft.

But maybe Jihoon also learns something about Jun as well. Maybe he also realizes that sometimes, the two of them don’t need to always be joined at the hip or in constant texting communication with each other—sometimes, the two of them go back to their own apartments and sleep in their own beds and do their own thing.

And that’s fine. There are some things they both like to do, by themselves, without needing the other.

Maybe Jihoon learns that Jun loves pouring milk slow-slow-slowly into his coffee, watches the tendrils and clouds blossom over its surface. Maybe Jihoon learns which TV shows are Jun’s favourites, which movies make him tear up like a baby, maybe he learns (and relearns, and relearns, because the lesson is a little hard to stick sometimes) that Minghao’s many uncommon habits and dozens of odd quirks are lovable and fun in their own way.

“You ready to go?” Jihoon asks, tugging half-heartedly at his sleeves from the door. His hair is more black than pink now, the colour lending a serious, more adult-like quality to his features.

Jun wonders if he can convince Jihoon to die it again. Maybe something ridiculous, like blond? Maybe Jihoon will agree if he does it, too.

“What do you say if we go somewhere … different tonight?” Jun suggests, locking the door behind him. The two of them make their way down the stairs and out of the complex.

Jihoon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Different? Is that a word in your vocabulary, Wen Junhui?”

A small part of him relishes the fact that Jihoon can say his full name now without hesitating for even a second. “I just thought it might be fun to try something new once in a while. Something … I dunno. Unexpected.”

“A break in routine?” Jihoon’s voice is sly, playful.

“Yeah.”

Jihoon’s fingers slip into Jun’s, their hands clasping together in a perfect fit. Jun can hardly remember what it felt like not holding them before. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

They don’t need romantic interludes, or passionate trysts, or extravagant outings. The two of them grin at each other and set off into the evening air, their footsteps guided by the strings of streetlamps high above.


End file.
